You were finally doing it.

Car, plane, bus, you were out of Smallville.

Your relationship had ended in flames, completely unsalvageable. Not that you'd want to salvage it, not after what your ex had done.

But that night had turned you into a storm, something unstoppable headed anywhere but home. So you found yourself at the Kent's farm, a second home since childhood, a safe place where your favorite person had lived.

Clark moved out years ago. College, fancy job in the city. You texted sometimes. Not often enough.

Certainly not enough to be asking Ma for his address, your only explanation being that he wasn't picking up and you needed to leave.

Now, that piece of paper in hand, you were on your last bus to Clark's.

The sky was dark, but the city was alight, people still out on the streets, cars zipping past on the bridge. You got off on your stop, a block away from his building.

It was a short walk, but enough to clear your mind. You needed a clear mind.

The elevator ride, that was for rehearsing. What you would say, how you would explain yourself. How you would explain the bags you had with you.

You knew he wouldn't see it as an imposition. It was just hard not to see it that way yourself.

But your knuckles landed on his door, three short knocks that feel like they sting more than usual.

Clark answers so quickly, almost like he'd been waiting. All bright smiles and warm hugs and an astonished, "What are you doing here?"